


Rise and Fall

by Darkest_Day



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, The Void, eventual angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkest_Day/pseuds/Darkest_Day
Summary: Every time it rises he needs to find a new way to chase it off, despite being stuck in the Tower, Andal has no shortage of ways to keep it from taking him. By the time he realizes what he's doing, it's too late. It's not like there are a lot of studies done on how a Nightstalker can hurt a non-Guardian partner unintentionally, he didn't mean any of it.





	Rise and Fall

The ache behind his head is acute and sharp. It burns behind his eyes and makes its way up to the top of his head. It's hard to think, it feels like his vision keeps blinking in and out of focus and he keeps losing track of time. Ikora catches his gaze and stares him down, he's missed something very important. The room is crowded, the mood is sombre. The look on Banshee's face is that of grief, pure and simple. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to figure out where the discussion has led. The reports on the table look blurry, he can't make out what it says.

“Do we organize a retrieval?” Ikora asks, he can reason that someone, or a fireteam, has died. That's the only time someone uses the word 'retrieval'. He tries to listen but the ache in his head pounds so hard it makes him feel sick. His vision darkens—

“—s invaluable, I must insist.” Osiris has his fist on the table, his eyes narrowed. Sagira flutters behind him, he watches the pointed pieces of her shell and tries to concentrate. A warm hand suddenly presses against his back, under his cloak. A familiar narrow-fingered hand, a push of calm Solar Light radiating from the touch. Ikora stands next to him, she doesn't make it look like she's doing anything unusual. The heat of Light soothes the ache in his head, he can think again. The papers on the table sharpen until he can read them. He exhales a low breath, she keeps her hand where it is. Secret and hidden, no one else has to know.

“Andal, what do you think?” Someone says, he turns his eyes to the Titan speaking to him.

Ikora's hand moves away from his back, he feels cold. “I don't think we can risk losing the information they may have found,” she says.

“I can send in a few of my scouts to check out the area,” he says calmly as if he's been listening this whole time. “Once they return we can take the next step.” Simple, fair, reasonable with only half the data. There are murmurs of agreement, he catches a small smile on Ikora's lips. Relieved, he does his best to pay attention to the rest.

As the meeting breaks and most start filtering from the room, Ikora fills him in. Fireteam Tuyet were in the Ishtar Sink when they went dark. Presumed dead, the sheer number of Vex readings before they lost contact led them to believe they had found something. Relieved that his out-of-his-ass answer had been enough of a right call, he thanks her gratefully and moves to get in touch with Cayde-6.

His best scout, an Exo who didn't always take the safest bet. His friend, too, with a situation as volatile as it seems sending Cayde is the best chance they've got.  

It's a quick conversation, Cayde agrees to find a fireteam for the mission and Andal wishes him luck. With all that settled a headache is creeping back in. He walks towards the railing of the Tower that overlook the twilight city below. The wind catches his scarf and he sighs, the Void is fingers at the edge of his mind, her whispers trying to soothe him or draw him in. Sometimes her patience snaps and she screams and he expects her to tonight when it's late and dark and he's alone. Sometimes her patience snaps and he wakes bloody and bruised by his own hand. His Ghost heals him when it goes that far, and as he stands over the City she nudges his cheek.

“ _I've been thinking,_ ” she starts. “ _I've taken a look at the walls, they're a bit spotty in some areas but I've found a route that you could run. It'll take you right back here, it should only take an hour._ ”

The last time the Void rose, he found reading helped chase it away. This time she takes his concentration and reading becomes impossible. The tide will fall and his struggles will cease, every time the tides come in he finds it harder and harder to chase it off. Sometimes it's been excessive use of Light – Solar – and other times it's been as simple as dying and being brought back by the Ghost looking at him. A run might be enough this time.

“It's worth a try,” he tells her, she's pleased as she takes him to the edge of the walls. He drops down to it and examines the area. The ice-cold air and the chill in the mountains are refreshing, he can see the wind blowing snow along the peaks. He takes a moment to admire it before he looks back at the Tower in the distance.

Then he starts running.

When he nears the Tower he's sweaty and tired but his mind is shockingly clear, this might actually work. When he's done he slugs his way back to his apartment and bends his head to the sink to drink from the tap. He takes a shot of liquor and retreats to the couch. He hasn't turned a light on and he lets pieces of his gear lay where they fall as he sheds them one by one. When he curls up under the thin blanket on the couch he's asleep before he realizes it. 

Andal wakes up only a few hours later, the headache is back but not nearly so crippling. The Void is falling again. He knows it will rise, it always will, but for now, he's on the path to becoming himself again.

The next morning Cayde is calling the meeting, he has a carefully bundled collection of dead Ghosts with him that he lays on the table. It's a bit easier to listen to the voices around him today, Cayde shares how they were able to retrieve them. Some are cross that he hadn't simply scouted the area as instructed, but he insists that Andal told him not to engage. Cayde was never much for rules anyway, Andal was so far out of it yesterday he wouldn't remember what exactly he told him. At least the Exo has his back.

“Sent what we found to Banshee, I think he knows what to do with it.” Cayde looks entirely too pleased with himself, the Hunter next to him looks just as pleased. Of course. He has a feeling that he doesn't want to know what those two are on about. He doesn't think Cayde will tell him, either. He skirts the paperwork and meets Cayde under the cool sun, stretching the ache from his shoulders. He takes another drag as Cayde turns to him.  

“Heya,” he says cheerfully.

“Fess up, _Rasputin_ , what did they find?”

And oh how Cayde grins. “You'll see, alright? Banshee's got magic fingers, he'll fill you in. How about lunch?” He huffs, but that's as good as he's going to get from the Exo right now. So he settles, walking with his friend down to the City. His head still aches and he's already daydreaming of running the walls again, it should only take a few more days and the Void's call will recede enough for him to return to normalcy. Cayde refuses to get curry with him, Andal weasels him into paying for lunch. If he hadn't seemingly found his next saving grace, he wouldn't have engaged in Cayde at all. 

That night he runs is colder than the first, the autumn heat is waning into winter. When he gets back to his room he sinks into bed, sleep doesn't come as easily as the day before but he sleeps more restfully. A few more days left of these pains, he's counting down the hours. 

Two days later Banshee hands him a gun. “Try it,” he says, blinking at him. When he gets a chance the two of them go to the range to give it a bit of a test, it kicks in his hands and goes hot when he fires. The charge explodes at the target and quite nearly melts it. The smoke curls in the air and people are staring, Andal pays them no mind. He's halfway in love with this thing already. 

“Fuck," he says with an approving whistle. "What is this?” 

“Needs work,” the Exo says, taking it from him without much warning. “Vex networks...” He mumbles as he walks away. He pities whatever ends up on the receiving end of that. He watches him leave and hops over the barrier to investigate the damage, it's melted entirely, even the wood supports under the target look like it's melted. He's amazed. 

When Banshee gets the kinks smoothed out, it still fires like a beast and the recoil is tough to control but he gets used to it quickly. It hits like a brick to the face, he's most definitely in love with it now. He empties a couple clips, pestering the Exo with questions he doesn't seem all that inclined to answer. In the end, he surrenders it. It would see much better use out there than Andal can ever get out of it in here. With evening fast approaching, he asks if he wants to get a drink. Putting off a run for the day might set his progress back a day, but his legs ache just a little bit. They go to the usual bar and Banshee mumbles he isn't feeling up to a late night. Andal isn't either.

The gunsmith looks unhappy once they're away from the main crowd and don't have to keep up appearances, Andal's mood shifts as he understands. Banshee and Gallida were close, he knew that much. She'd always be near him, sitting on that table of his and swapping ideas. Maybe it was cold of him to think, not that he was going to tell anyone, but that was the nature of the world now. People died, Guardians were not immortal even if they were sturdier than most. He didn't really want to count how many times his scouts went missing or turned up dead. Any time they died when he sent them out he made sure to retrieve what he could. Bring what can be found to those who cared the most about them.

Come to think about it, that red cloth around his hips looked pretty similar to what Gallida wore around her shoulders. For a moment he was lost in that thought, guess there was someone else out there trying to look out for those who grieved. Cayde really was something else, but there was no way he was going to tell him about that. His ego was big enough without Andal stroking it for him. He gets home early, leaving Banshee to his thoughts. His Ghost convinces him to eat something so he snacks on cool bread he's had wrapped up on the counter. It's still soft and good despite lacking anything resembling an appetite for the last two weeks. It's harder to get to sleep that night, he wakes up with faded marks on his arms.

The day is ice-cold, instead of waiting for nighttime he leaves to the walls midday. Get it over with early, try to avoid the worst of the cold, not that it bothers him much. He can't move as fast as he normally does with Guardians and city militia roaming about, he wonders if he's a nuisance for taking up so much space while it's busy like this. With a resigned sigh after having to pass a group standing around the entire pathway, he slows to a walk. He might have to brave the cold and keep running at near night. He can't stop, otherwise he won't pull himself out of this. 

There's a man standing against the outpost wall, the butt of his rifle rests atop his foot, the barrel is tucked securely between the crook of his elbow and shoulder. He has a cigarette between his lips and is reading some old paperback novel. The way he holds it would make many Warlocks cringe, some might even throw a fit. The front cover is folded all the way to the back cover, he flips pages with one hand like an expert while the other holds a mug of something that steams. The man turns pale blue eyes to meet him, then offers a small smile. He's a little unshaven, short dark hair, kind smile. He blames his breathlessness on the sharp note of cold in the air. 

“You're out early,” the man says to him. “I don't normally see you before my shift starts.” He has a soft accent that curls his words and a gravelly voice to match. _Oh_ boy.

“I thought I would escape the—“ he's interrupted as someone nearly runs into him, he sidesteps to avoid them and ignores the glare. He steps over to the other man, this is as good a place as any for a smoke break. “The cold,” he finishes.

“That is fair.” Two fingers pull the cigarette from his lips as he takes a sip from the mug, his book seems to be forgotten in his hand. “I don't envy the overnight shift, I'm here late enough as it is.”

Andal exhales a puff of laughter, “can't blame you for that one.” At least the jacket the other wears looks warm, and the gloves leave his fingers bare but look thick enough. Suddenly he's wondering if he's warm enough out here, then shakes off the thought. How ridiculous. This stranger's warmth is the least of his concerns right now. 

“I don't suppose you can,” the man smiles at him, but he presses his lips together as if he's trying to hide it. “Bit busy here for you right now, isn't it?” He asks.

“You could say that,” he starts, eyeing the herds of people, like ants, crisscrossing the concrete. “Looks like I'll have to go back to late-night.”

“Oh, it's not so bad." The man muses, then chews his words for a moment before he's speaking again, "how's this, nineteen hundred hours and I get a break. If you meet me here, I can have something warm ready for you.” There's suddenly a little heat behind Andal's ears but the stranger looks cool and collected.

“That sounds entirely bearable,” he replies, the man scoffs at him and sips his tea. He can tell its tea now, he can catch the scent of it in the air between them.

“I'll be here tomorrow, but don't expect to find me the next two days after. I'm afraid I've found a few days off.”

Now it's Andal's turn to scoff. But the man closes the book and finishes the last of his mug and straightens. “I'm sorry to cut this short, my friend, but it looks I'd better get back into it. I suspect you should too.”

“Can't argue that,” he spares a wistful glance at the Tower, then back at the man in front of him. “Stay out of trouble,” he advises with a grin.

“Need I remind you that I'm the one with a gun?”

“And I've got a knife.” He retorts, but he's already backing up to go. He catches the man shaking his head as he laughs, lifting the gun off his boot and shouldering the door next to him to push his way inside. Andal backs into someone and stammers apologies, caught a little off centre by the whole encounter. His Ghost only teases him once he's retreated to his room. He threatens to lock her in the fridge.

“ _You know that won't work, right_?” She points out. He curls up on the couch with a groan and flips on the radio, listening aimlessly to various chatter. Civilian channels were interesting, he tunes into them tonight, splayed over the couch in a position that shouldn't be as comfortable as it is. He's listening to two people natter on about a shop owner selling Ghost toys, and that they're in such high demand that they're back-ordered for months as he drifts to sleep. He wakes up early and there's loud grating laughter between a group of people coming through the speakers. He doesn't pause long enough to listen to what they have to say before he's turning it off. He wanders through the kitchen, digging through cupboards and the fridge before he even realizes he's hungry. The realization has him laughing.

“Breakfast?” He asks his Ghost after he's dressed, adjusting his hood over his head. She simply darts into his hood and settles herself comfortably under his ear. With a fond pat, he takes off to hunt down something to eat. The day is mostly uneventful, work-wise. He bickers with Saint about nonsense as Osiris stares them down. He likes Saint a lot, then again he's never met an Exo he didn't like. He offers to take Saint for lunch and the Titan glares at Andal until his composure breaks. He laughs and throws up his hands, “no tricks, I swear.”

Saint elbows him playfully and he's sure it's bruised his ribs. “You're paying next time you _brute_ ,” he gasps, clutching at his side. Playing up the bruising pain in favour of 'I'm actually dying and you've killed me'. He hobbles along pitifully beside him before Saint grabs him by the back of his cloak and quite nearly carries him the rest of the hallway, even though Andal's just as tall as he is. Osiris doesn't join them, even though he expected him to. He doesn't miss Saint ordering an extra dessert to take home that he doesn't have Andal pay for. He wants to tease him but he doesn't want to make his Ghost fix broken ribs. He'll have a nice bruise tonight. 

He times his run that evening so he hits the stranger's post at the right time. He has to slow down a little when he gets too close too fast. By the time he does get there, the man is outside smoking and he has to try to make it seem like he hasn't been walking the last ten minutes so he didn't miss him. The cool blue light of the moon illuminates him and his eyes are fixed on the Traveler above. He slows his pace to a walk, the man looks over at the sound of his footsteps. 

When Andal gets close the man has already produced a mug and is offering it to him. He grins, the steam rolls off the surface and he bites the tips of two fingers to tug the gloves off his hands. Pale blue eyes focus on his bare knuckles as he takes the mug from him. He's not going to admit how much he's been looking forward to this, he holds the empty glove in his gloved one and takes a small sip.

“I wasn't sure how you liked it,” the other admits sheepishly. Andal grins, he isn't a tea drinker but he can still appreciate it. Not to mention the fact that it's been made just for him, it doesn't really matter what it is, makes it better than anything he could make for himself. 

“It's great, don't worry,” he assures, a hint of sugar and he could do with maybe a little bit more of it but he likes it anyway. “Thank you.”

They drink and smoke in the cold, then he surrenders the cup and tugs the glove back on. “Have a good night,” he says.

Andal grins and says “you've already assured that one.” He says it as he leaves so he can't make things awkward while he stumbles over more words after the compliment. It's better to leave now so he doesn't make a fool of himself. He almost bounces back to his room and when he checks there's a rather brilliant looking bruise along his ribcage from Saint's roughhousing. 

He wakes up entirely too early and drags himself to the databases. He needs to know this man's name, and the best way to find that is to run a search. He knows the section of the wall he's stationed on and knows when he starts. That's enough for him to find him. It only takes a few minutes, thank the Traveler for Vanguard access. His name is Devrim Kay, he has been offered numerous promotions in his time here. He's kindly rejected each one, seemingly content where he is. Andal doesn't go as far as to check his schedule, he just wanted to know his name. He's murmuring the name to himself when the door opens behind him.

“An _dal_ ,” Ana drawls, he jumps a little and turns to her. Not exactly caught looking up something he shouldn't, but, well, Devrim isn't a Guardian. It could make things a little bit complex. He signs out and casts a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I'm not asking.”

“I wasn't telling,” he responds.

“Hey, so I've been looking into it, I was wondering if you wanted to help me with something?” She asks. She's, by far, his favourite student. Even before Cayde, who is stubborn and likes to play by his own set of rules. She's a natural, she listens intently and learns shockingly easily. A lot of it is a natural talent, he expects she will surpass him one day. Looking at the devilish glint in her eyes, she might have already done so.

The Speaker doesn't mind if he heads out into the Wilds with her, so they go. They get out to Mars and land in the hot sands, it's such a relief from the cold ice of the approaching winter. He likes the seasons and he likes the cold, but it's nice to be warm sometimes too. 

Ana Lights her gun, a trick he taught her, and burns through whatever they find. At the feet of each Light kill, she leaves a sunspot like Titan Light that burns the ground. Of course, most of what Titans can do with Solar are little more than rumours. Sunbreakers aren't exactly common, Hunter stories over a drink or a fire are the only place anyone can hear the tales of them. He still knows a sunspot when he sees one. He doesn't mask his amazement. The spot fades quickly, and she huffs in annoyance.

“That's the problem, Andal, they don't _last_. It's not going to help me when I'm being swarmed, I need to do better.”

Andal watches her technique, studies it, they roam the sand for more heads to burn and he offers advice. More Light in the shot, more Light in the gun, he's smoking and trying to think about the way Titans use Light. That's where it clicks – he's seen a lot of Titans in action. They don't use Light the way he does, nor do they use it the way Warlocks do. With no real reference point to Solar Titans, he contemplates Arc. While Andal harnesses Arc like a shield, most Hunters call it to a weapon. A blade or a staff, he's even seen one Hunter use it like a whip. Warlocks call the storm to them, they channel it through them and release it. Titans use their body as a weapon.

There it is. 

“Do you still remember how to summon the Gun?” He asks, casually, lighting another cigarette absently.

“What? Of course, I do, but you said—?“

“I know,” he says with a shrug. “I'm just thinking out loud here; hear me out.” She nods, shaking off her impulsiveness to listen. She's a faster student than he ever was. “When you summon the Gun, you're internalizing the flame. The Gun comes to you. When you Light your own, you focus on what's in your hands. What happens when you do both? Internalize and externalize. I've got a feeling those sunspots of yours might burn a little hotter if you can manage that.”

It takes a lot of work, they roam the buried cities as Ana trains herself into learning something new. It's gruelling, but she pushes herself to her absolute limits. Her last shot of the day leaves a sunspot that burns and burns. She shouts with joy, cheering, he drapes his arm around her and her arms go around his middle. “I've done it. I think I'm _finally_ better than you.”

Andal scoffs in reply. When he took the Vanguard position he had very quickly learned that being the best out there wasn't going to be his goal anymore. His goal was to train others to be the best in his place. It hadn't been an easy lesson, he prided himself on each new way he could manipulate the Light, he wanted to be the best, he wanted to have stories written about him. Those skills, those awesome displays of power, were better suited in the Wilds, not by him. “You surpassed me a long time ago.”

Her use of Light leaves her exhausted, he takes her back to the Tower as the weariness seeps in. He's proud of her, he really is. She crashes on his couch as he returns to the Vanguard to see what he's missed through the day.

Knowing Devrim isn't on shift, Andal doesn't go out to the walls that night. As much as he might want to keep running, the cold is settling in faster and faster and each morning he wakes up with frost on his window. Best stay in while he can. The Void in him is silent and voiceless, there is no whisper or call. It will return but he doesn't worry about it anymore. He knows one day the Void will become too much, one day she will try to take him. When that day comes he will welcome it. Sometimes he envied Titans, who did not take the Void into themselves but used it to protect, worked alongside it. Hunters took it to command, Titans did not have to worry so much about how they touched the Void.

Andal does not envy Warlocks who embrace the Void.

He does go into the City to pick up a few things before settling down for the night. His cupboards are barren and it would be nice to be able to cook something if he wanted to. He also thinks about Ana still asleep on the couch and grabs a few extra things she might like. He's good at throwing meals together, he's sure he can make something. She wakes up when he gets home and they cook together, both her and his Ghost team up to make fun of him. "I'll lock both of you in the fridge, I swear." He mutters to himself, not masking the fondness in his voice. She loiters on his couch for the night and Cayde shows up in the morning, he and Ana take off and Andal gets back to his work. 

**Author's Note:**

> More Andal/Devrim? Yes I think so. There always needs to be most of this crack ship.


End file.
